


Flashbacks

by bonafidezombie



Category: Silent Hill (Video Game Series), Silent Hill 3 - Fandom, Silent Hill Revelations
Genre: Drabble, ESP, Implied Death, Nightmares, Sleep Paralysis, implied fire, implied trauma, short and sweet
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-18
Updated: 2020-11-18
Packaged: 2021-03-09 19:09:17
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 539
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27611165
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bonafidezombie/pseuds/bonafidezombie
Summary: After her experience in Silent Hill and three lifetimes worth of trauma, Heather deals with the after effects and learns that ESP doesn't mix well with PTSD or sleep paralysis.Guest appearances from: Heather's fear of people dying because of her!
Comments: 2
Kudos: 3





	Flashbacks

Drifting ash and smog fill her room, the smell of fire assaulting her nostrils. Her arms are leaden and heavy, her neck rigid and chin stuck jutted forward towards the ceiling. Desperately, Heather’s arms could manage no more than shaking and her fingers no more than twitching as she attempted to reawaken and reclaim her limbs. 

Heather was no stranger to sleep paralysis: had been suffocated by it all of her life--hell,  _ lives _ for all she knew. Visions that, while horrific, she was now used to. This, however, was different. She wasn't used to  _ this.  _ Her other self, kneeling on her chest, weighing her down and choking her out. Skin torn and burned, bloodied and mangled, staring back down at her. Yet this time it encompasses the room, walls and floor flaking away to reveal rusted walls.

This was just sleep paralysis, she repeated in her head. I’m just in my room, she reassured herself. 

But she couldn't turn her head, couldn't lift an arm or move a muscle: could not see for herself she was still on her futon and not in her hospital bed. Had not been in her hospital bed all this time, that all of this had not been some twisted dream she'd escaped to while she gathered dust in a basement. She tried to steady her breathing, but it became hyperventilating as she struggled because oh god she couldn't breathe, her muffled gasps shallow and ragged. Quick and dizzying. Her eyes darted this way and that desperately, straining to see.

No figure.

Her eyes swept back up to the ceiling.

Her breathing became ever more ragged and futile.

Suspended above her, drooping at the head and legs from gravity’s strain, was a body bag. Black rubber sinewy like muscle, stretched tight over the misshapen figure within even as the zippy shifted, shakingly coming open.

Haltingly, bit by bit as the zipper travelled its length, a figure emerged: limbs bent at awkward angles, clothing bloodstained, skin pallid and cracked. One by one.

Five in total. Two, her other selves, smaller than the rest.

An arm brushed hers and her skin crawled, a muffled, strangled sob couldn't escape her clenched jaws. It wasn't real, she told herself, but it felt so real. They were burying her alive, crushing her, suffocating her. She couldn't breathe, couldn't move, couldn't think, she wasn't going to make it this time. She was going to die, here, still in her hospital bed after this time. 

Abruptly, it all vanished: she bolted upright on her futon, alone in a sparsely decorated studio apartment. Head throbbing, she lets it droop and she catches it in her hands. Sharp stabbing pains in her temples, shaking heavily, blonde fringe slick to her forehead. She gasped, trying to get air now she could finally breathe, lightheaded and sick to her stomach.

Eventually, she stood. She pulled on some jeans and a jacket, slipped on some shoes and grabbed her cigarettes. Once, she had claimed to have given up smoking for good. Hell, since her return to Silent Hill, she'd promised Douglas she would countless times. But this was a special case, right? She needed a walk, some fresh air. To be anywhere that's not here.


End file.
